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“Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. At once. The key is in my trousers. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm.
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